Debridement
by Child of Loki
Summary: A series of drabbles featuring a troubled Chris LaSalle coming to terms with his grief by finally seeking professional help. (Also an attempt to add some depth to Savannah.)
1. The Procedure

**Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS New Orleans or its characters…**

 **Author's Note: I think this came from discussing with MKP about how Pride so far hasn't been interfering with LaSalle's 'grieving' (not grieving) and wondering when he might step in… More of a what would happen after Pride gave his agent/friend/surrogate son his opinion. In true drabble format, because I sometimes need to exercise being concise.**

 **Word Count: 100**

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Blue-green eyes that should've been steel grey like the sharp edge of a scalpel sliced into him. He tried not to flinch under the knife.

Only a fool would refuse life-saving surgery.

The wisest man he knew had told him it was a festering wound. Just the same as one of the flesh, it needed tending.

And wasn't a soul more important?

The infected, rotting parts needed to be cut away so the rest could heal properly.

He met the blue-green stare like the sharp edge of a scalpel. The therapist began to cut.

"How have you been sleeping, Christopher?"


	2. The Wound

**Author's Note: Guess this is going to be a series of drabbles. Because… reasons.**

 **Word Count: 100**

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An auburn field scented of sweet-smelling posies flowing across his pillow.

A voice like a soothing song from his childhood. Melodic. Cheerful. Calming.

Hands cool but sure and delightfully familiar with his body. Caressing. Rousing.

Soft lips.

And eyes... The eyes were all wrong. Filmy. Blank. Staring.

Dead.

Even in his dreams when she wasn't lying lifeless in a pool of her own blood, her eyes were _those_ corpse eyes. Always staring at nothing. Yet somehow accusing him. Blame he fully deserved. He'd failed her. And she'd rightfully haunt him forever.

"Truthfully, I haven't been sleepin' much at all, doc."

* * *

 **A/N: I honestly don't know what to make of how the canon has LaSalle 'grieving'... Will it affect his work? When will Pride have a talk with him? What would it take for him to seek professional help? Thoughts? Opinions?**


	3. The Therapist

**Author's Note: I know making a continuing story out of drabbles isn't the most compelling method, but I am enjoying the challenge of trying to be succinct, even if I do stray and drag a thought/concept over several.**

* * *

The therapist had a reserved expression. Yet not devoid of sympathy, compassion. Like Meredith Brody.

The eyes were a different color, but just as perceptive. Her hair dark and cut short like Merri's used to be. And skin like cream, with a sprinkle of subtle freckles across nose and cheekbones.

Maybe that's why out of all of the shrinks he'd tried out, she was the only one who he hadn't hated.

It was like confiding in his friend. Without the shame of showing his weakness to her.

"Is it because you still live in the place where Savannah was murdered?"


	4. The Nightmares

**Author's Note: Despite the lovely Pride-LaSalle bonding in 2x0 , not sure that would be enough to help him when he'd been avoiding his grief so adamantly…Anyway, more of this, because… I'm enjoying it, anyway.**

 **Word Count: 100**

* * *

"No. I don't think so," Chris said. Those blue-green eyes all silent patience.

He thought that Savannah's eyes were green. _Had been._ Their memory now was supplanted by the image of her in death, lifeless milky-grey and unseeing.

"I don't exac'ly spend alotta time at home anymore."

A nod, a scribbled note. Doubtless it said 'Denial. Avoidance.'

And all true.

"But I still have nightmares."

"About her death?"

He shrugged. "Mostly."

The therapist's blue-green eyes pushed him, obviating any need for words.

"Others, too, now. Pride, Brody… My momma an' sister. An' I never can save 'em. Any of 'em."


	5. The Guilt

**Author's Note: I believe the credit for the theme of this drabble goes to MJK, for mentioning it in one of our many discussions about our favorite Bama Boy.**

 **Waening: Brief Coarse Language**

 **Word Count: 100**

* * *

"Have you heard of Survivor's Guilt?"

Yeah. Course he had. He worked for a branch of the military, after all. Dealt with traumatized Naval personnel on a fairly regular basis. But if the doc was saying that was _his_ problem...

Nah.

He just... He just had nightmares was all. Couldn't keep Savannah's ghost at bay. Because he hadn't saved her. Because he was a _failure_. Not Survivor's Guilt.

It was because he hadn't been home.

He hadn't been home and she had.

She'd been murdered because _he_ hadn't been there.

Because it should've been him. It should've been him.

 _Fuck._


	6. The Past

**Author's Note: Trying to like Savannah, but the show never really gave me any reason to, so creating my own back story to make her more interesting, and LaSalle's love for her more convincing (for me).**

 **Word Count: 100**

* * *

"It's been a couple of weeks since we've spoken, Chris. How are you doing?"

"Better." Skeptical blue-green eyes. "I ain't bull-shittin' ya. The nightmares are basically gone. Actually had a good dream last night…"

A memory. Savannah, six years old, the girl next door with red braids and a TMNT shirt, purple leggings rolled up past her knees, standing barefoot in the crick. They were catching frogs. And her green eyes were big and bright with delighted surprise as one hopped about within the confines of her small hands.

All freckles and giggles.

The love of his very young life.


End file.
